Last year at this time I had flowers:
This year not so much. Here’s the same spot today:
I’ve hit that age where winter is no longer fun for me. Snow doesn’t mean tobogganing or snowmen, it means shoveling and slogging. If I were independently wealthy and could sit all day sipping <insert beverage>, and *looking* at the snow it would be A O K. Lets imagine we can do that, alright?
Look at my little happy tree:
You can’t hide from me Mr. Blue Jay:
I have a 3-pack of Mourning Doves. If I could tell them apart I would name them 1 of 3, 2 of 3, and 3 of 3. But I can’t tell them apart.
Ahhhh. Enjoying that imaginary cuppa? I sure am.
Are you as done with winter as I am? The Groundhog said there would be an early spring. He lied.
I am disappoint.